The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  Silas returned to Rhohn’s side, jammed the butt of his the torch back into the dirt, and asked, “Do you think it will slow them down?”

  “Not at all.”

  The flames were only three feet tall. Glancing at the powerful rear legs of the mongrels, Rhohn expected they could easily clear the fire. Or, if the demon cared to, simply wait until it burned out.

  The demon-man eyed the flames a moment longer before turning and marching back to the mongrel lines. A premature cheer arose from the men of the village, apparently thinking they had gained a small measure of victory. Rhohn remained quiet, letting the cheer go on longer than it deserved. He supposed the villagers deserved one last happy moment.

  Rhohn turned to study the northern and southern roads into Ebel, ensuring the men there had lit the trenches covering those narrow ways. From what they could tell, the mongrel force lay solely to the west, yet he could not discount an attack from the flanks. Although, with the overwhelming numbers the Sudashians had, he doubted the demon-man would bother. There was no need for subtlety or strategy today. One, mad charge should take care of them.

  Rhohn looked west again to find the demon standing at the head of the mongrel ranks, staring at Ebel. The spawn of the Nine Hells turned his horned head and said something to the beast beside him. Immediately, the mongrel tilted its head back and howled, the haunting cry setting the hair on the back of Rhohn’s neck on end and filling the evening air.

  Rhohn tensed, squeezing the hilt of his drawn sword, and shouted, “Ready yourselves!”

  The men lifted their makeshift weapons in silence. Rhohn took in a few quick, steadying breaths, and wondered how many mongrels he could kill. He hoped at least one.

  The howl rose in pitch, echoing about the three hills of Ebel.

  Rhohn bit down hard and crouched into a defensive position, glaring at the Sudashian mongrels.

  The mongrel’s howl continued a moment longer before abruptly cutting off.

  Without looking over, Rhohn whispered, “Kill as many as you can, Silas.”

  “That was the plan,” muttered Silas.

  Rhohn nodded.

  “That’s a good plan.”

  Fate, apparently, disagreed.

  The demon and mongrels did not move. They stood still and silent, glaring down the street at the Borderlands men. After several anxious, much-too-quiet moments, Rhohn relaxed and rose from his crouch. Something was not right here. Silas felt it, too.

  “Rhohn?”

  A scowl on his face, Rhohn muttered, “I know.”

  He turned his gaze to the earthen buildings lining the northern and southern sides of the street, scanning every shadow, studying. Suddenly, a cry of alarm rang out to his right.

  “Corporal!”

  He swiveled his head to stare north and spotted one of the villagers pointing behind them to the east. Rhohn spun quickly, dirt crunching under his boot heels, and caught a flicker of movement dash past an open doorway. Its hunched shape marked the obvious: it was not a man of Ebel. Rhohn pressed his lips together.

  “Hells!”

  Glancing back west, Rhohn saw the wall of mongrels still in place, still unmoving. The demon-man’s eyes were locked on Rhohn, watching, waiting.

  “How did it get into the town?” asked Silas.

  Rhohn shook his head.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What do we do?”

  Chewing on his lip and thinking, Rhohn muttered, “Give me a moment…”

  “Why aren’t they just—”

  “Blast it, Silas! Give me a moment!”

  His friend shut his mouth and frowned, glaring at Rhohn.

  He stared back to the demon, wondering what the monster was doing. The spawn could send a quarter of his force and kill every man here in mere moments. Yet he had not.

  “Why?”

  He did not mean for the word to slip from his lips, but it did. Silas chose to answer him.

  “He’s playing with us,” muttered the footman.

  Rhohn glanced over.

  “Pardon?”

  “You know how lions play with their prey once they are assured the kill?” asked Silas. He nodded at the horned monster. “He’s the lion. We’re his prey.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Silas raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you asking me to explain what a demon of the Nine Hells is thinking?”

  Rhohn shook his head and stared west, back to the spawn and his small army.

  “Sorry. Foolish question.”

  After a moment, he swiveled his head back to the building where he had seen the mongrel. The men of Ebel were murmuring worriedly now, staring back and forth between the massive, visible force to the west and the hidden unknown to the east. Rhohn needed to do something before full panic set in.

  Keeping his voice low, Silas asked, “Do you want me to go back there?”

  “Alone?” asked Rhohn. “You have no idea how many are inside.”

  Silas nodded to the line of men and muttered, “You need to do something. They’re going to break.”

  Rhohn glared at the building, his frown deepening. He wished the mongrels had simply attacked already. Sighing, he looked to the line of men and called softly, “Jebedeh!”

  A skinny man holding a shovel turned around. Rhohn waved a hand.

  “Come here.”

  Jebedeh immediately hurried to where Rhohn and Silas stood. With wide eyes, the man said, “Yes, Corporal?”

  Rhohn stared hard at the man and said, “Stand here.” He pointed to his own boots. “Right here, do you understand?”

  Jebedeh nodded emphatically.

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  Rhohn leaned closer to the man and whispered, “The moment—the absolute moment—any of them—” he nodded at the mongrels and demon “—move, I want you to scream as if someone jammed a dagger in your gut. Am I clear?”

  The man was clearly terrified, yet managed to respond with another, almost confident, “Yes, Corporal.”

  Rhohn nodded once, saying firmly, “Good.” Looking to Silas, he ordered, “You’re with me.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he began to stride toward the darkened entryway of the occupied building. Silas hurried beside him.

  Like every other building in Ebel, the single story structure was made from piled earth and dried mud, reinforced with beams of weak bulboa wood. It was thirty feet, wall to wall, with a single doorway and three small, uneven holes for windows. The actual stretched-hide door was gone, a part of the makeshift barrier in the street.

  “How should we handle this?” muttered Silas.

  Rhohn had no idea. This situation had not been covered during his Dust Man training.

  “First, we see what we are dealing with.”

  Silas stared at his face, frowning.

  “You don’t know what to do, do you?”

  Rhohn pressed his lips together and shook his head.

  “I’m accepting suggestions if you have any.”

  Silas remained quiet, his sword and shield held at the ready. Rhohn frowned.

  “Wondrous…”

  When they were twenty paces from the building, Rhohn held up his right hand to indicate they should halt. Due to his burns, Rhohn used his left hand to hold his sword and did not carry a shield. It was hard to grip the handle with only two fingers and a thumb.

  “Stay here.”

  Silas looked over, surprised.

  “Are you going in?”

  Rhohn shook his head.

  “Not yet. I just want to see what we’re dealing with here.”

  Silas eyed the darkened doorway and whispered, “Be wary.”

  Nodding, Rhohn crept toward the two windows on the left, thinking he could get a glimpse of what awaited them inside the house. He kept his steps slow and measured, constantly glancing between the windows and open doorway. Sweat dripped from his brow, running into his eyes.

  He stopped an arm’s length from the earthen wall and peered through th
e windows. A deep, disappointed frown spread over his lips. He could barely see anything. The gloom of dusk had laden the building’s interior with dark, murky shadows. Frustrated, he backpedaled, quietly and quickly, retreating to where Silas waited.

  “It’s too dark. I can’t see a thing in there.”

  Silas murmured, “Shall I charge in there blind and start swinging?”

  A quick look over told Rhohn that Silas was only half-jesting.

  “Stay here while I get a torch.”

  Silas nodded.

  “I suppose that is a better idea.”

  Rhohn turned, took a step back to the fortifications, and stopped. Staring at Silas, he muttered, “Don’t do anything brainless, Silas. Wait for me.”

  With his gaze locked on the dark doorway, Silas nodded.

  “Of course.”

  Rhohn turned and trotted back to the line of men, sliding his thin-bladed sword into his scabbard as he hurried. Stopping beside Jebedeh, he ripped a torch from the ground and stared past the flaming trenches down the road. The Sudashians had still not moved. The demon’s red eyes were fixed on Rhohn, a wicked grin on his face.

  Glancing at his impromptu deputy, Rhohn asked, “Anything?”

  “No, Corporal,” replied Jebedeh. The man did not take his eyes off the mongrels. “Rest assured, I will scream when something happens.”

  Rhohn did not doubt it.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  The man nodded.

  “Hurry.”

  Rhohn turned from the mongrels, faced east, and froze. The area in front of the building was empty. Silas was gone.

  He turned quickly back to the line of men, about to ask if anyone had seen what happened, but he found the villagers wholly focused on the threat to the west. None were looking back to the occupied building. He shut his opened mouth, afraid to provoke a panic if they knew one of their two true soldiers had vanished. A scowl on his face, he hurried back to the building, switching the torch to his maimed hand, and drawing his blade.

  Upon reaching where he had left Silas, he lowered the torch to illuminate the ground and studied the area, but the hard-packed dirt was impervious to any sort of tracks.

  “Blast it, Silas…you didn’t—”

  He cut off as he lifted his eyes to the darkened doorway. His heart lodged in his throat as he spotted two glowing, yellow eyes staring at him from the shadows inside, flickering with the reflected light from his torch. As he gaped, something arched from the darkened doorway and landed on the ground with a dull metal clang. A Dust Man’s blade skidded across the dirt, coming to rest a half-dozen paces from Rhohn.

  A boiling hot anger surged through Rhohn and he charged the doorway, raising sword and torch as he ran. The glowing eyes shifted quickly, disappearing into the gloom. Rhohn was in the midst of crossing the threshold when he realized what a foolish thing he was doing. He skidded to a stop in an instant, but it was too late. He was already inside.

  Something struck him hard in the back, shoving him to the ground. He dropped the torch and sword as he crashed hard to the dirt, arms and legs splayed out. An instant later, something large and heavy leapt on his back—sending breath from his lungs—and grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the ground. The musty odor of dog washed over him as a breath a thick, wet voice growled softly into his good ear.

  “Do not move, smooth-face!”

  Rhohn ignored the directive and tried to toss his attacker off, but the beast held tight.

  “Hold still!” barked the mongrel. “Or end up like him!”

  Rhohn ceased his struggle for a moment and scanned the room. His dropped torch was a few paces away, still alight and illuminating the empty interior. Like the door, the furniture was part of the wall outside.

  Silas lay against the back wall, slumped over and unmoving, his eyes wide open and frozen in stunned terror. The front of his tabard was stained dark with blood and his throat a mushy, pulpy mess of mangled flesh.

  Rhohn’s fury surged, thrice as intense as before. He began to thrash about again.

  “Get off me!”

  The mongrel was incredibly strong, however, and held tight. Rhohn was not going anywhere.

  “Stop struggling!” growled the mongrel. “We don’t have much time!”

  Through his rage, Rhohn realized the mongrel was speaking Argot, the common tongue. He did not know they could do so. The wet, warm breath on his neck returned.

  “If you listen to me, you will live through the day!”

  Rhohn arrested his struggling for a moment, unsure he heard the beast correctly. He tried to twist his head around to see the mongrel, but could not see much more than the animal’s fur-covered forearms and disturbingly man-like hands.

  “What did you say?”

  “If you want to live, smooth-face, you will be quiet and listen to what I have to say.”

  Rhohn blinked. This did not make any sense.

  “Why haven’t you killed me?”

  A low growl emanated from the beast.

  “I still will if you do not be quiet! I have an offer for you.”

  His confusion deepening, Rhohn muttered, “An offer? What are—”

  “Quiet!” barked the mongrel. “I need you to carry a message for me. Far to the east. Say yes, and live. Say no, and die. Decide quickly.”

  “Why in the Nine Hells would I help you!?”

  The beast tightened its grip on Rhohn’s wrists and gave an exasperated growl.

  “Because, if you do, we can be gone from your lands!”

  Wincing from the pressure on his back and arms, Rhohn hissed, “You want to leave?”

  “Yes!” snapped the mongrel.

  “Then go!” hissed Rhohn. “Leave!”

  “We cannot!”

  “Why not?!”

  The mongrel barked, “I do not have time to explain. The others are waiting for my signal. Make your choice, smooth-face!”

  Rhohn lay in the dirt, a mongrel on his back and his fellow soldier dead in the corner. This situation did not favor him in the slightest. In a growl that nearly mimicked the mongrel’s, he said, “If you get off me, I will listen.”

  Surprisingly, the mongrel immediately released his wrists and stood, alleviating the pressure on his back. As Rhohn scrambled to his feet, he whipped his head around, scanning the dirt for his sword.

  “Looking for this?”

  Whirling around, Rhohn found the mongrel standing a half-dozen paces away, glaring at him with alert, yellow eyes, the same brown and white beast that had stood in the road earlier, glaring at him. The mongrel’s typically white muzzle was red with Silas’ blood. Sharp canine teeth jutted down from its top jaw, pressing down on his black lips.

  Rhohn’s gaze shot to the beast’s right hand. The mongrel held his sword, its tip pointed at the ground.

  “Give me that.”

  The fur around the mongrel’s eyes twitched.

  “No.”

  The beast tossed the sword behind him. Rhohn watched helplessly as the blade skidded through the dirt.

  “You said you would listen, smooth-face.”

  “I lied,” snapped Rhohn.

  A low, angry growl arose from the beast’s throat as it said, “You must listen, smooth-face.” Its eyes widened a fraction. “Please.” The pleading note in its voice was entirely unexpected.

  Before Rhohn could respond, a sharp yelp from outside pulled the mongrel’s attention to the windows. An impatient puff of air escaped from its nose.

  “I must signal to the others. Do not raise an alarm. Do not run to fight. Do not do anything but stand and listen.”

  “If you think I’m—”

  “Silence!”

  Ignoring the beast, Rhohn raised his voice and said, “I am not—”

  The mongrel cut him off with a sharp, threatening growl. Scampering forward, its eyes flashing wide, it barked, “Are you fool? Listen to what I am offering you! This is a chance to end this war!”

  Rhohn glared at the mongrel,
unable to make sense of any of this. With less defiance than before, he said, “But the villagers—”

  “Are going to die!” snapped the mongrel. “Today’s battle is already lost! Why are you still fighting it?!”

  Rhohn frowned. The mongrel had a point.

  Another sharp, quick yelp echoed outside. The mongrel’s black nostrils twitched.

  “The time to choose is now, smooth-face.”

  Rhohn stared long and hard into mongrel’s eyes. The beast could have easily killed him when he first rushed in—and still could right now—yet Rhohn was still breathing. There had to be a reason.

  Eyeing the mongrel, he muttered, “What do you offer?”

  The beast huffed once.

  “Hope, smooth-face. The only hope your kind has. Are you interested or not?”

  Cursing himself for what he was about to do, knowing that he was sentencing the ninety-four men of Ebel to die—horribly, painfully, and very alone—Rhohn gave a short nod.

  “I’ll listen.”

  The mongrel tilted back his head immediately, and let out a deep, ear-piercing howl. Rhohn winced and resisted covering his ears. As soon as the beast went silent, dozens of howls answered back. Jebedeh began shouting.

  “Corporal! Corporal! They’re charging!”

  As Rhohn glanced to the doorway, the mongrel stepped closer to him, growling lowly, “They are already dead.”

  Grinding his teeth together, Rhohn demanded, “Talk, mongrel.”

  The beast sneered, his thin black lips stretching against sharp, yellowed teeth.

  “Do not insult me! I am kur-surus!”

  Rhohn forced himself to hold the mongrel’s intense glare, neither understanding how he had insulted the animal nor caring much if he had. The two stared one another down as the howls outside grew louder and men’s panicked screams bloomed into shouts of fear.

  The mongrel tossed its muzzle, huffing in exasperation, “We don’t have time for this, man.” Pointing over Rhohn’s shoulder, it said, “Go there and sit down.”

  Rhohn looked back to the far back corner.

  “Why?”

  “Blestem argel!” barked the mongrel. ”Just do as I ask!”

  As Rhohn reluctantly shuffled to the corner, the mongrel strode to Silas’ body and rubbed its hands on the soldier’s bloody neck. Rhohn collapsed to the dirt, glaring at the mongrel while trying to shut out the screaming outside. The beast returned to Rhohn, squatted down, and stretched out its hands.